


scars

by aebbe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additions to Canon, Canon Compliant, F/M, Family, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Kinda, Multi, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Rating May Change, Romance, Slow Burn, and kids out to change the world, and lots of friendship and family plots too, and recovery, mainly h/g but other pairings in the background, not sure what to call it when it's slow burn but then the story continues after they get together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aebbe/pseuds/aebbe
Summary: They won the war. Now they have the chance to build a better world.But how do you remake a world, when you can barely patch together the holes in your own heart?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	1. too many funerals

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the same universe as my next gen fic, [Unforgivable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426997/chapters/58933846), although you don't need to read that to enjoy this, or vice versa. Eventually it will also tie into my other fics, from various eras, which I'm working on editing and moving over from ffn.
> 
> Love it or hate it, this is compliant with the epilogue and (more or less) with JKR's initial statements about families and careers of the major canon characters. It is NOT compliant with The Cursed Child or with her later revelations. 
> 
> Ratings and tags may change. General warning for frequent mentions of canonical character death, with any other specific warnings on individual chapters.

__

_"A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh."_

*

The world seemed like a place he must have known once, long ago, half-remembered, half-familiar, but at the same time utterly strange.

There were too many funerals to be held. Funerals were supposed to be some sort of comfort, Harry thought. That was what people said—a chance to say goodbye, to celebrate someone's life, to find some closure. Maybe they would be comforting to look back on, when time had turned searing wounds into scars. He couldn't say he really felt it yet, though. Mostly what he felt was a sort of cold, aching numbness, as if there was only so much pain you could take before your heart switched it off and held it all at a distance, before something inside you said, _'No. No more.'_

They buried Remus and Tonks together, and Harry was half-surprised by just how many people came. The Order, of course, but also all that remained of the Auror Office, in their uniforms, and a whole crowd of people he assumed must be Tonks’s friends. Most of the people Harry had been at school with seemed to be there to pay their respects to Professor Lupin, as well as all of the surviving staff. Even Narcissa Malfoy was there, alone and dressed in stark, black robes.

‘Who’s that woman, talking to McGonagall?’ he asked Ron and Hermione, when it was all over, and people were gradually making their way out of the graveyard and Disapparating. ‘I recognise her.’

The woman in question was too old to be one of Tonks’s crowd, forty maybe, with dark, curly hair, and she wasn’t wearing Auror robes. Harry didn’t think he knew her, but there was something somehow familiar about her nonetheless.

Hermione looked in that direction. ‘Oh, isn’t she that woman who came to Grimmauld Place a couple of times, the summer before fifth year? She’s in the Order. But I thought that was before you arrived. Did she come again afterwards?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He didn’t think that was it, but he supposed it could be.

‘She’s French, I think,’ Hermione went on.

‘No, I’m pretty sure she was English,’ Ron objected, from the other side of her. ‘She didn’t have a French accent.’

‘Well, some people can speak a foreign language without an accent. I’m sure she was French. She had a French name—I don't remember what it was, do you?—and I heard her talking to Dumbledore about allies in Paris.’

Harry zoned out their disagreement, which he thought they were only having so as not to have to think about other things. He kept looking at the woman, and she glanced up from her conversation with McGonagall and met his eyes.

He was reminded, in a peculiar flash, of the moment in his first year when he’d been looking at his new teachers, and had met the recognition and dislike in the eyes of Severus Snape. This, though, was almost the opposite. The woman’s expression hardly changed, but it was as if she knew him. A flash of pleasant recognition, like seeing an old friend, except that he was sure he'd never met her.

McGonagall said something, and the woman looked away again, the moment over. Harry took a step in their direction, curious to know who she was.

‘Harry.’ A deep voice spoke behind him, and he turned to find himself facing Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Harry gave him a small smile. ‘Hey, Kingsley. How’s it going?’

‘About as you might expect. The Ministry’s in chaos.’ Kingsley looked hard at him. ‘How are you doing, Harry?’

Harry paused, because people kept asking that sort of question, and he never knew how to answer it. He didn’t even know what the true answer was.

‘I’m okay,’ he said, using his stock answer. ‘You know. Keeping going.’

Kingsley gave him a look that suggested he wasn’t entirely fooled. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to bring this up at a funeral, but I wanted to give you a heads up. All of you,’ he added, looking at Ron and Hermione too. ‘The Auror Department’s recruiting, and they’re not going to hang around about it.’

Hermione frowned. ‘None of us are qualified to be Aurors. We haven’t got our NEWTs yet.’

Kingsley looked grim. ‘Things are a bit too desperate for that, to be honest. All you kids who fought have proved you’ve got the skills. You’d need some departmental training, but the main thing is to get the manpower out there. We’ve got a whole lot of Death Eaters still alive and active, and we’ve lost too many good Aurors. We don’t have the numbers. And I’m—well, I’m being pulled in a different direction at the moment.’

‘You’re not leaving the Aurors, are you?’ Ron asked.

‘Something like that. Can’t say too much about it at the moment, but you'll hear soon enough. This isn’t official, by the way—Robards is head of the department; he’ll be getting in touch. I just wanted to let you know—give you a bit of time to think about it, before they come around offering you all jobs.’

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks, Kingsley.’

As Kingsley departed, he looked around at the others.

‘Wow. What d’you reckon?’ Ron asked.

Two years ago, it would have been a dream coming true. Now Harry couldn't really feel anything about it. He supposed he’d take the job, if it really got offered—there was still work to be done, after all. And what else was he going to do? Go back to school?

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said doubtfully. ‘I never really thought about being an Auror. I’m not sure it’s what I want, to be honest. What are you thinking, Harry? Don’t you want to do your NEWTs?’

‘I don’t know either.’ 

In everything that had happened over the past year, he’d never planned for _after_.

‘What’s the point in NEWTs if you’ve already got a job offer from the Auror Department?’ Ron asked. ‘I mean, that’s an open door straight in at the top.’

‘Well, that depends where you’re aiming for, doesn’t it?’ Hermione objected.

Ron and Hermione started to debate again, and Harry looked back across at where he’d seen McGonagall and the strange woman. McGonagall was still there, but she was talking to Professor Sprout now, and there was no sign of the other woman. Harry scanned the rest of the diminishing crowd, but she’d gone.

*

Harry sat at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, inspecting the shiny remains of the burn he’d got on the mission that day. His healing spells could use some work, although he’d managed to improve it. Neville would probably know a plant or something that would help—he’d have to ask him.

His fireplace glowed green, and he looked up, expecting Ron or Hermione, but the face that appeared was older and greyer than either of them.

‘Harry, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘May I pop over for a moment?’

'Oh, hello, Mrs Weasley.' Harry glanced around at the kitchen, which he would have tidied up a bit if he'd known she's be visiting. 'Yeah, of course. Come on over!'

Her face withdrew, and a few moments later, she was stepping from the fire, clutching something in a casserole dish.

It was the first time she’d visited him at Grimmauld Place. He’d seen her at the Burrow, of course, but things were different there now. Quieter and sadder. Mrs Weasley still spent all her time cooking and knitting, which should have been comforting, but there tended to be a tremor in her hand as she stirred her pots, and tears often fell on the lumpy jumpers and scarves.

 _‘I think she thinks if she just keeps going, she can make it seem normal again,’_ Ron had said miserably on one occasion. _‘Like we’re all still here.’_

However, there were no tears and no tremor as she put the casserole dish down on the table and hugged him tightly. He returned it warmly, because, if he was honest, he'd missed her.

‘Hello, Harry,' she said as she released him, her eyes scanning the kitchen, although she said nothing. 'I made far too much of this, so I thought you might like some.’ 

‘Well, thanks,’ Harry said genuinely. ‘It smells great. D'you, er, want to sit down?’

‘No, I won't stop. Arthur's due home any minute—you know they've made him Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot?' Her voice glowed with pride. 'It's wonderful, but he's rushed off his feet. But you know you’re welcome at the Burrow any time you like, don’t you?’ she went on. ‘Any time, really. You’re family, Harry. You and Hermione both.’

‘I know.’ He smiled at her. ‘I appreciate it. Really.’

And he did. He knew that she worried about him, almost as much as she worried about Ron. Where exactly things stood between him and Ginny was a little up in the air at the moment, and Harry wasn't entirely sure how to fix that, but one thing was certain, and that was that there had been no wavering of affection from Molly Weasley. He didn't know exactly what Ginny might have said to her, and he'd noticed her eyes flicking between them on the few occasions he'd been at the Burrow during the summer, but she'd never asked. Had never commented at all, just continued to treat him exactly the same. 

She looked around again, a little anxiously. ‘Is this really where you want to live, Harry? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult your home, and I know it means a lot to you, because Sirius left it to you, but… well, I just worry about you, all by yourself here.’

Maybe once he’d have been offended by the suggestion, but he was past that now.

‘It’s not that bad,’ he said, only very mildly defensive. ‘I mean, it’s a bit messy right now, but that’s my fault. I got rid of all the cursed stuff—reported it to the Ministry and they took it away.’

‘But you haven’t thought about redecorating?’ she said, almost hesitantly.

‘I haven’t really had time. I’m on Auror missions all the time.’

‘I know. I understand, I really do. Ron tells me some of the stories, though I know he’s not telling me the worst bits. And I read it in the papers. You’re always in the thick of things. But if you’re going to make this your home…’

‘Honestly, I don’t know if it’s really home,’ he said bluntly. ‘It’s a place to eat and sleep. That’s all I need right now.’

‘Oh, Harry, love.’ She reached out and put a kindly hand on his arm. ‘I know you’re needed in the Auror Department, and I know you want to fight, but you can’t give everything to it, you know?’ She paused, then went on. ‘I saw Andromeda Tonks yesterday. She said they hadn’t seen you for a while.’

A rush of something like shame went over him.

‘Oh. Yeah, it must have been a few weeks.’

‘Nearly two months, Andromeda said. Not since September.’

‘I just don’t get time.’

She said nothing, just looked at him, a little worried frown on her face.

‘I couldn’t do much for them anyway,’ Harry went on. ‘I don’t know anything about babies. He’s better with Andromeda. And…’ She kept looking at him, so he took a deep breath and continued. ‘I’m an Auror. I go on dangerous missions. What if I make myself part of his life, and then something happens to me? That’s not fair on him.’

There was a silence.

‘No,’ she agreed quietly, in the end. ‘It’s not fair when that happens, you’re right. But he’s still your godson, Harry. You’re one of the only people he’s got.’

*

He would visit, he told himself. He’d Floo or write to Andromeda and fix a time to go over. But then there was another big case, and he was working long hours, overnight missions out in the field, spending most of his free hours sleeping, and somehow, before he knew it, another month had gone by. The nights were closing in, and it would be Christmas in a couple of weeks. He’d been invited to the Burrow, of course, and he supposed he’d go, although he didn’t feel very Christmassy.

He had a rare night off, but he’d been too tired to think about making plans. It was sleeting outside, and he’d pulled the curtains closed and lit the fire in the kitchen, which was the room he used most often, as it was the cosiest. 

It wasn’t a night for going out. He had a letter from Ginny that he needed to answer, which was at least quite a pleasant task, so maybe he'd do that. He'd see her at Christmas too, which was a good thought, even though the closest they'd got to talking about things was, _'Let's see how things go'._

The fact that Ginny was still one of the brightest thoughts in his head was not really in question—but beyond that, he wasn't quite sure of anything, especially what he should do about it. They weren't kids any more, and a relationship wasn't dream-like afternoons by the lake, where nothing really mattered except her. Too much had happened to both of them since then. So they were friends, and maybe they could be more than friends, except that he was in London and she was at Hogwarts, so there was nothing _more_ really to be, and nothing that could be done except write.

He was about to summon the letter when the doorbell rang, and Harry paused. Number 12, Grimmauld Place was no longer under a Secret Keeper’s protection, but it still had many careful wards on it, and his friends were more likely to Floo over than to stand on the doorstep in this weather.

Harry made his way into the hall and looked out through the one-way window in the door. It was dark outside, and the sleet made it hard to pick out a face just from the light of a street lamp, but he felt there was something vaguely familiar about the figure.

He pressed his wand to the window and spoke. ‘Who is it?’

It seemed a bit rude and stand-offish not to open the door immediately, but there was always the risk that a journalist—or even someone worse—had got hold of his address and managed to track him down.

‘Hello!’ a woman’s voice called back. ‘Is that Harry Potter? Sorry to call by unannounced—Molly Weasley told me how to find you. I’m afraid that, unlike her, I don’t come bearing casseroles, though.’

The detail about the casserole persuaded him that she was telling the truth. And, after all, the wards would still hold even after the door was open. Harry opened the door, and the light from the hall spilled onto the person on his doorstep.

It was, unmistakably, the woman he’d seen talking to Professor McGonagall after the battle, over six months ago. Curiosity overcame him.

‘Oh. Um, hello,’ he said. ‘You’d, er, better come in.’

In the hallway, she pulled off something that was halfway in between a long coat and a robe, then looked around herself, steam starting to rise slightly from her wet things.

‘Jesus,’ she remarked. ‘You could have done something better with the décor.’

Harry’s mouth opened slightly, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. She caught his expression and chuckled.

‘Sorry. Your parents could have told you to expect no tact or politeness from me.’

Harry regained his voice. ‘You knew my parents?’

The laughter died from her face. ‘I did. Quite well, in fact.’

Harry knew, in a flash of extraordinary memory, where he knew her face from.

‘God, you were—I mean, I saw you. In a memory.' She'd been a teenager, and he'd hardly taken any notice of her at the time, because he'd been much too focused on other people in that memory. No wonder he hadn't remembered. But this woman, whoever she was, had been one of the girls standing with Lily Evans in that first awful memory he'd seen of Severus Snape's. The same curly hair, the same freckled face and broad, upturned nose, the same wide, dark eyes. She'd been right there. She might even have been in other memories of Snape's—he couldn't remember, because he'd been paying even less attention to background characters then. But he was in no doubt about the first one.

She looked curiously at him. 'A memory. Interesting. I won't ask whose. So you know who I am?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I'm sorry. At least, I think—you were friends with my mum?'

'I was.' Her eyes clouded again. 'Good friends. And not only that, I knew your dad since we were babies, because my mother was friends with your grandmother. My name is Odette Thibodeau.’

‘Er, nice to meet you,’ Harry said, his mind struggling to keep up. ‘So, you’re French? Hermione was right,’ he added, remembering that conversation.

‘Well, no,’ Odette Thibodeau said. ‘My mother was French, and my husband is French, and my daughter is certainly more French than English, but I was born and grew up here. Thibodeau is my married name.’ She looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Look, I know I’ve just dropped in very unexpectedly, but do you have some time to talk? I should have introduced myself a long time ago.’

Well, he had nothing else planned tonight, did he? And he was curious—very curious. How had he never heard of this woman?

‘Yeah, that’s fine. Come through. D’you want some tea or something?’

‘I’d love that. If there’s one thing I miss in France, it’s a decent cup of tea.’

He showed her through to the kitchen, and she looked around herself as she took a seat.

‘Well, this room’s a bit more pleasant, anyway,’ she remarked.

He filled the kettle and stuck it on the stove, then turned back to her.

‘So, you must have known Sirius and Remus too?’ he asked, then something else occurred to him. 'Hermione said you were in the Order. You came here that summer everyone was here.'

She paused for a moment, before speaking. ‘Yes. I joined when they did. The whole crowd of us did, straight out of Hogwarts.’

‘Wow. Okay.’ Harry summoned a couple of mugs and the teabags, processing all of this. ‘But—Sorry. How come I’ve never heard about you then?’

She sighed. ‘Well, this is partly why I haven’t turned up before now. I owe you an apology, Harry. I think a lot of people do, in fact, but most of the others either don’t know they do or aren’t here to apologise anymore. I am here, so I’m sorry. More sorry than you could imagine.’

Harry faced her, examining this strange woman who seemed to have come from nowhere. There was so much he didn’t know about his parents—even about Sirius and Remus. She seemed to be talking about a part of the story he didn’t know at all.

‘Why?’ he asked, at last. ‘I mean, no offence—I’ve just never met you. Why should you owe me an apology?’

‘Not strictly true,’ she said. ‘You have met me, even if you don’t remember it. And the fact that you don't remember me is exactly why. I should have come to find you a long time ago. There’s no excuse, really, except that I took the coward’s way out, which isn’t something we Gryffindors like admitting. Dumbledore told me that you were best off where you were, and I chose to believe him instead of trusting my own instincts, and I let you down by doing that—let you down badly.’

In the silence that followed, the kettle boiled, its whistle bringing Harry back from the memories of Privet Drive as a child. He tried not to analyse those memories too much, generally, or to think about how he got there, or where he might have ended up if different decisions had been made. He’d barely started healing from more recent wounds, and opening up those ancient ones came with a world of emotions he had no idea what to do with.

‘There were reasons I had to stay at the Dursleys,’ he said, turning to take the kettle off the stove and fill the two mugs. ‘It wasn’t… your fault.’

It felt strange, trying to reassure a woman he didn’t even know. What, after all, did she think she should have done about it? And why should it have been her doing anything at all?

‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Just the one sugar. And I know all about Dumbledore’s reasons. He told us all about them, and whatever Dumbledore said, we all trusted—that was the problem. And I’m not speaking ill of the dead,’ she added, before he could protest. ‘Dumbledore was a great man, who did a lot of great things. I don’t regret for a second that I followed him in the Order. But sometimes—and I think you, of all people, have to know this by now—sometimes he sacrificed things for the cause that weren’t expendable.’

Harry attempted to smile as he carried the mugs of tea to the table, but it came out small and twisted.

‘Like me?’

‘Well, to be candid. Yes. Not just you, but yes.’ She took the mug he offered and pulled it towards herself. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ Harry sat down at the table opposite her. ‘Look, I know… I know some of the things Dumbledore did were…’

‘I’m not here to rake over the ashes of Albus Dumbledore’s strange life,’ she broke in. ‘To be honest, I think you probably knew him a lot better than I did. It’s my part in it that I regret—or rather, my lack of part.’

She stopped and looked at him, but he waited for her to go on, since she clearly had more to say.

‘I was in France when your parents were killed,’ she went on, slowly. ‘I’d gone over there as a translator—as I say, my mum was French, so I spoke the language—but my real work was undercover for the Order. The French Ministry had decided that the Lord Voldemort problem was nothing to do with them, but not all French people felt the same. I was drumming up some support there—working with activists, that sort of thing. That’s how I met my husband. By the time I knew about it, it was all over, and you were with your aunt. You-Know-Who was gone, Sirius was in Azkaban, and we all thought Peter was dead too. Half our other friends really were dead. And Dumbledore told me you were alright and in the best place, so I decided to believe him, and I ran away back to France, even though I _knew_ what sort of relationship Lily had with her sister. For that, I am very, very sorry.’

She stopped, still watching him carefully. Harry took a mouthful of tea to avoid having to answer immediately, and found it slightly too hot still. He swallowed, trying not to wince.

‘It’s okay,’ he said uselessly, although it wasn’t really, was it? It had never quite been okay, but he couldn’t feel any anger or blame towards someone he didn’t even know. ‘It… Well, I survived.’ He pulled his mouth into what he hoped was a reassuring sort of smile.

‘Yes.’ She took a sip herself, her expression hard to read. ‘You did.’

‘I saw you,’ Harry said abruptly. ‘At… at the funeral.’

She nodded, a shadow passing over her face. ‘Yes, Remus was a good friend of mine. And I’d have spoken to you then, but it didn’t seem the right moment. That was the problem, though—there was never a good moment to try to explain to you why you’d been abandoned.’

It reminded him a little of what Dumbledore had said to him once, about telling him about the prophecy. Never a good moment. Well, no, sometimes there were only bad moments.

‘They told me you’d seen photos of the first Order,' she said abruptly, when he didn't reply. 'You might not have seen these ones, though.’

She reached into the bag she had with her and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across to him. Harry took it and opened it, pulling out a small stack of photographs. He blinked at the top one. Three girls, about twelve years old, giggling at the camera. One, unmistakeably, was his mother. Lily Evans, her dark red tied back in an untidy ponytail, standing in between the other two. Harry’s eyes dwelt on her for a moment, taking in the carefree smile and the way her eyes screwed up at the corners when she laughed. Then he looked at the other two girls. The one the left was tall and blonde and blue-eyed, and the other, the smallest of the three, could only be Odette.

Harry looked up, smiling. ‘Wow. Thanks,' he said. 'Really, it's good to see this. Who's the other girl?'

‘Her name was Evie Farrall. She died too,’ Odette Thibodeau said softly. ‘Not long after your parents, trying to take down some Death Eaters who’d managed to avoid arrest. I’m the last of the gang.’

Evie Farrall's story reminded Harry of the work he was doing himself—and she’d died doing it, even though the first war had been over by then. Odette couldn’t even be forty yet, and yet all her school friends were gone. Harry knew about losing people, but he couldn’t imagine being the last one left.

He leafed slowly through the photographs. There were several more of the same three girls at various stages in their teens, and then he came to one that showed two much younger children, maybe four or five years old, chasing each other around a green lawn. The one in front was holding what looked like a bright red toy Quaffle. They were both in shorts and t-shirts, and it must have been summer. Harry stared at them. The one out in front could be Odette, with the mop of curls and the freckled nose. The one chasing her could only be…

‘Is that—’

‘James. Yes. I told you, our mothers were friends.’

Harry had never seen an image of his father younger than eleven, and he grinned despite himself at the scene. He supposed he must have looked very like that himself, at the same age, but the only photographs he ever remembered seeing of himself were posed school ones that the Dursleys had only bothered getting so that the school didn’t think it was strange. He was sure he’d never had such chubby legs as his dad, though.

He looked back at the other photos, the ones of the girls.

‘I thought my parents weren’t friends at Hogwarts?’ he said.

Odette chuckled. ‘Oh, they weren’t. Neither were James and I, for a good few years. Furious rivals, more like.’

‘So, what happened? I mean, they got together, obviously. But you and my dad—’

‘We all grew up and got over ourselves. Took a while, but I’m glad we managed it while we were all still around.’

Harry had a million questions. So many things he’d never asked Sirius or Remus, while they were caught up with the war. He knew more about his parents’ years at school from Snape’s perspective than he did from their own. But he had other questions too, about this woman herself.

‘Did you say you’ve got a daughter?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘Yes. Her name's Nina, but we call her Ninette, and she’s thirteen, about to start her third year at Beauxbatons. I’d like to introduce you some time, if you’re up for it.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Harry said slowly. In another world, he and this French kid might have grown up knowing each other. Weird to think of all the things that might have been different.

‘You’ll never know how much I regret leaving this until now, Harry,’ she said, as if she was reading his thoughts. ‘When you were little, Dumbledore said you were better off away from our world entirely, and god damn it, I believed him again. And then when you were older—I couldn’t face it. I turned my back and made excuses every time. Should have been more like Sirius, fighting his way to you even when there were Dementors all around you, the idiot.’

Harry grinned in spite of himself. ‘To be fair, I think he was fighting his way to Peter Pettigrew more than to me.’

‘Bullshit. He told me he went to find you at your aunt and uncle’s before you even went back to school.’ Her eyes softened somewhat. ‘At least he found his way to you eventually, although it’s bloody unfair on both of you that you didn’t get to spend longer together.’

Harry stared down at the photos again, mainly so that he didn’t have to look at her. Sometimes, missing Sirius was still a physical pain, so sharp he couldn’t bear it. She was right—it _wasn’t_ fair. Twelve years in Azkaban, then two on the run, and Sirius had never even got to see his name officially cleared.

‘At least you had the time you had, though,’ she went on. ‘Better to have known him and loved him, even if you had to lose him, than never have known him at all, am I right?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Of course. I’d never want to—to not have known him.’

‘I think there are one or two pictures with him on in there,’ she added, pointing at the photos. ‘And Remus too.’

They went through the photographs, and they drank tea, and by the time she left, Harry was starting to feel as if he’d known Odette Thibodeau much longer than he had.

‘Come again,’ he said, impulsively, as she prepared to depart. ‘Any time.’

‘Thanks—I might just take you up on that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Think about redecorating a bit, though, if you’re really going to live here—I’m very sure that Sirius wouldn’t want you living with his parents’ wallpaper choices.’

*

The next morning, he woke up with a clear thought in his mind.

Sirius Black had been a reckless and irresponsible godfather in very many ways. He’d taken risks, he’d acted on impulse, he’d lost twelve years of his life—and Harry had lost twelve years of knowing him—in Azkaban, and in the end, he’d died, and none of it was fair. Losing him had been one of the hardest things Harry had gone through in his life, and that was saying something.

But he would not, for a second, have preferred not to have had those two years. Knowing him and losing him was infinitely better than never having known him at all.

He had the weekend off. And he was going to spend it with Teddy Lupin.


	2. pieces of family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies to anyone who read the first chapter before i posted this one - i've changed what i'm doing with this fic somewhat. i realised that harry and ginny's story wasn't going to be complete in two chapters, so i've decided to continue the focus on them, with other pairings in the background. 
> 
> fingers crossed there are still people out there who like harry/ginny!

Ginny pushed the tarnished brass handle to the left and the hot water shut off, leaving her shivering in a cloud of steam. Her warming spell couldn’t have been strong enough. She pushed open the door of the shower in a hurry, dripping water onto the wooden floor as she groped for both towel and wand, where she’d left them lying on a small stool.

‘ _Calefacio_ ,’ she muttered, as soon as her wand was in her hand, and the air warmed around her.

She wrapped the towel around herself and swept her hair up into another, water droplets trickling down her body, between her skin and the warm, rough material. It was something she had noticed more recently—the little, physical, familiar sensations, things she’d never stopped to think about before. Like colours that had become brighter or a volume dial that had just been turned up. Like her body reminding her that she was alive.

The scattered circle of scarring at the top of her thigh was fading from dark purple to something more like the colour of her skin, but it was still raised and shiny, and strangely numb when she pressed on it. She had others, but it was the largest and most noticeable, the legacy of a spell cast by Alecto Carrow more than a year ago. Ginny pulled knickers and jeans on, hiding the marks. Through the steam on the window, she could see the beginning of a bright, frosty day. It was going to be cold, and she tugged on an over-sized Gryffindor jumper that she thought had once belonged to Charlie.

Christmas Eve, and they were all pretending so, so hard.

She left the bathroom, her hair still twisted in a towel, and Ron’s bedroom door opened across the hall. It wasn’t Ron who emerged, though, and Ginny’s steps faltered.

‘Oh. Hey.’ Harry blinked at her and rubbed the back of his neck, looking half-asleep, his hair standing on end even more than usual.

‘Morning.’ Ginny held her bundled pyjamas against herself, wishing she’d at least put a bra on under the jumper, although it wasn’t like anything was visible.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the humped shape that was Ron under a duvet and pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. He was only in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, and he looked a little cold. Ginny felt a sudden longing to reach out to him, to touch the slight gooseflesh on his arms, to wrap herself, warm from the shower, around him, and feel the cold seep away from him.

‘I, er, didn’t realise anyone else was up,’ he said quietly.

‘I think it’s just me.’ She looked away, down at the faded carpet of the hall. ‘I normally get up and go for a run before breakfast at school, so I’ve got used to waking up early.’

It shouldn’t be this awkward. It wasn’t awkward when they wrote letters to each other, when he told her everything he was allowed to about whatever mission he’d been on, and she caught him up on everything at Hogwarts, from the rebuilding work to how Hagrid was settling in as the new Head of Gryffindor, when they debated some Quidditch technique, or he told her funny stories about what Ron had done when he was drunk, when they filled their letters with every cheerful thought either of them could muster.

Writing to Harry was the only time that Ginny felt like happiness was a real thing again. But maybe it wasn’t like that for him. Maybe for him it had been as much of a pretence as her mum hanging holly around the mantelpiece and baking mince pies. Faking it for her sake.

‘Are you, um—are you finished in the bathroom?’ he asked.

‘Oh. Yeah, yeah, I’m done. All yours.’

He gave her the smallest smile as he moved past her, but it only made him seem further away, somehow. For a moment, she stood in the hallway as the bathroom door closed behind him. Where was he, the boy who used to make her laugh until she had tears on her cheeks, then kiss her until she was breathless?

He seemed far away, in a place she couldn’t reach him. Maybe gone forever.

Downstairs, more fully dressed and her hair dried, Ginny lit the range and cast more warming spells. Her mum appeared before Harry did, looking grey-faced and thinner than she used to be. Ginny suspected that Mum didn’t sleep very much these days, but she still produced a smile.

‘Morning, love. Thanks for doing the stove.’

She shuffled to the cupboards in her worn-out slippers—Ginny happened to know that Ron’s gift included a new pair—and got out her largest pan.

‘What can I do?’ Ginny asked.

Her mum glanced over her shoulder. ‘You can put the kettle on if you want.’

Ginny filled the old kettle and put it on top of the range, then, her hand still on the handle, looked at Mum as she dropped butter into the pan.

‘Why didn’t we all help more?’ she asked.

Mum looked at her and blinked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know. You always did everything. Cooking, cleaning, washing, everything. All we ever did was the washing up when you made us, and we used to fight over that.’

 _‘Make Ron do it!’_ she distinctly remembered saying on more than one occasion, and her brothers were just as guilty.

Mum smiled, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling up.

‘Well, that’s what a mum does.’

‘There were _seven_ of us!’

She wished she hadn’t said it as soon as it was out of her mouth, because Mum’s smile disappeared. There had been seven. Now there were six.

‘I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,’ her mum said quietly, gazing down at the melting butter in the pan.

‘I know. I know, but—’ Ginny let go of the kettle and flopped into the old wicker chair by the side of the range. ‘We could have helped more. We still could. Look at you, getting up first to cook breakfast for everyone.’

‘Yes, well, I’m certainly not handing over the reins to you, after the mess you made of my best pan last time.’

Ginny laughed despite herself. ‘Okay, so I’m not the best cook. But that doesn’t mean you have to do _everything_ , you know. It’s nearly the twenty-first century, Mum. Women don’t have to give up everything for their kids and husband.’

Her mum turned and laid a hand, warm from the pan, against Ginny’s cheek.

‘Ginny, love, I would have given up everything I had for any one of you. I still would. And so would your dad. But it was never like that. Maybe it seems old-fashioned to you, but there was nothing I wanted more than to be at home with my babies, and I wouldn’t take back a single minute I had with you all. Especially now,’ she finished in a whisper, with a wobble to her voice as she turned back to the pan and started to lay strips of bacon into it.

Ginny jumped up from the chair and wrapped her arms around her mother, leaning her cheek against the greying copper curls.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said.

Her mum reached up and patted her hand. ‘What for? Not wanting the same life as me? That’s nothing to be sorry for. You don’t give up on any of your dreams for anyone, you hear me?’

Ginny stayed where she was for a moment. The bacon sizzled as Mum poked it with a pair of tongs, and upstairs a door opened and there was a low buzz of voices.

‘I don’t know what my dreams are anymore,’ she whispered.

‘You’ll find them again.’ Her mum turned and pressed a kiss against the side of her head. ‘Trust me. Now, if you want to help, go and get some plates out.’

*

Mum had invited Andromeda Tonks and baby Teddy over for Christmas Eve night and Christmas Day, and it was surprisingly nice. Ginny had only met Andromeda once or twice before, and then briefly, but she knew that her mum had taken to visiting, first to take round old baby things she’d dug out of the loft, and then just for cups of tea. Andromeda was lonely, she said, and Ginny didn’t think Andromeda was the only one who liked some female company during the day.

Teddy was crawling everywhere, his hair changing colour with every new thing that caught his attention, and he provided a focus for everyone that wasn’t just all the missing family pieces. His joy in tearing wrapping paper off was much greater than his interest in any of the contents, and he squalled when Andromeda put his brand new jumper—yellow with a turquoise T—on him, but was smiling again in time to have his picture taken in it, along with everyone else.

Bill stood up at the start of dinner to make a toast—‘To family and friends, whether they’re here or not.’—and there was a short silence afterwards. Ginny saw her mother’s eyes fill with tears as she nodded at Bill, and George drained his wine glass in one go. She glanced, almost involuntarily, at Harry, but he was looking at nothing, his fingers tapping the stem of his glass.

 _‘To family.’_ They were the torn-up pieces of three families, patched together, the glue just about holding.

Then Teddy banged his spoon on the side of the highchair Ginny had once sat in herself, demanding attention, and the moment was over.

After dinner, Ron muttered about Flooing Hermione and disappeared alone into the living room, and most other people made a washing up party in the kitchen. Ginny felt that she really ought to join it, especially after what she’d said to Mum the day before, but for once it seemed like her mother had more than enough help, and Ginny felt the need for some space and air.

She stepped outside the back door into the cold evening, wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself and wishing she could smoke a cigarette. It wasn’t even something she did that often, but Terry Boot had given her one last year, and she’d found they calmed both nerves and spikes of adrenaline. It hadn’t seemed like much of a vice then, with a war raging around them, and she’d mostly stopped since, but every now and again, when the sadness seemed almost too much, she found herself wanting one. Mum would kill her if she smelt it on her, though, so it was a no-go.

A voice was murmuring from a few feet away as the door swung to behind her, and Ginny looked up with a slight smile. Harry was out here, Teddy bundled in a woolly coat in his arms, pointing out the coloured lights strung up over the porch and through the trees. He hadn’t noticed her, and she watched him for a moment. It was a bit of a strange sight, Harry with a baby. It made him look older. He lifted his wand and set the lights flashing, and Teddy crowed delightedly.

Something made Harry glance around, and he spotted her.

‘Hey, look,’ he told Teddy. ‘Ginny’s come to see us.’ He looked up at her again, the lights reflecting in his glasses, and smiled. ‘You okay?’

Maybe it was Teddy’s presence, but he seemed more relaxed than he had done last time they’d been alone.

‘Yeah, fine. No room in the kitchen, though, and Ron’s still talking to Hermione in the living room.’ Her eyes moved to Teddy. ‘You’re spending quite a bit of time with him, then.’

Harry shifted Teddy’s weight to his other arm. ‘Yeah, well, he is my godson. Drew the short straw there, didn’t you, Ted?’

Teddy chuckled and made a grab for Harry’s glasses, and Ginny laughed.

‘I don’t think he agrees.’

‘Hey, monkey.’ Harry disentangled the small fingers from his glasses frames. ‘Those definitely aren’t for playing with.’ He looked at Ginny. ‘So, what have you been up to since you got home? Have you seen much of the others?’

‘No, I’ve just been here. With the family, you know? Are you coming to the New Year party with the DA, though?’

Harry pulled a face at Teddy to make him laugh.

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

Ron had told her that Harry worked too hard. That he almost never came out with the rest of them.

‘You should come,’ she said, on an impulse. ‘We can’t have a DA party without you.’

 _I want you to come_ , she wanted to say. But she didn’t know where he was at when it came to the two of them. Saying something like that might just send him running away at this point.

He smiled, though, and she thought maybe she’d said the right thing after all.

‘Yeah, well, I’ll probably be there. Between you and Ron, I’m not sure I’ve got much choice.’

Teddy wriggled in his arms, making noises of dissatisfaction.

‘I can’t put you down here, mate,’ Harry told him. ‘Look, it’s all wet on the ground. Here, come and look in the window.’ He took a few steps along the back of the house, until he was looking in through the living room window, where the Christmas tree was. ‘See the tree? Pretty, isn’t it? And look, there’s Ron. You can’t see his head, though, because he’s got it in the fire, talking to Hermione.’

Ginny wasn’t sure how much of all that Teddy understood, but he stopped trying to escape, entranced by the bright scene in the window. She followed them and looked in. Sure enough, Ron was visible through the tree branches, or most of him was. At least he and Hermione seemed to know what they were doing, as far as any of them could. Hermione had gone to her parents’ for Christmas, still making up to them for sending them to Australia for a year, but Ginny knew that she and Ron had gone out the first night of the holidays. And Ron had visited during the term, too, on Hogsmeade days. Harry had kept his distance, always busy on missions on those weekends, or so Ron had said.

She looked at him as he smiled down at Teddy, both their faces lit up in gold by the light flooding from the window, and wished she knew what he was really thinking. What he was feeling—about her or about anything.

‘Remus would be happy,’ she said. ‘To see you with Teddy.’

There was a breath of stillness between them. In all their letters, the only things they’d never talked about were the painful ones. The memories, the bad times, all the people and things they’d loved and lost. Had she overstepped?

‘Yeah,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘I s’pose he would. You know, this woman came to see me a few weeks ago.’

Ginny tilted her head, puzzled. ‘What woman?’

‘Her name’s Odette. She said she was friends with my parents. And with Remus and Sirius. I’d never heard of her.’

She wasn’t sure where this was going, or why he was telling her, but it was good that they were talking. It felt more like how things should be between them. How things had been before.

‘Oh. Did you—did you believe her? Why hadn’t you met her before?’

‘Oh yeah, I believed her. Your mum had given her my address, and she had photos and everything. She lives in France, with her daughter. It—was all kind of complicated, though. Honestly, it just made me realise how much I don’t know about my parents, or even about Remus or Sirius. It’s pretty shit, to be honest, not even remembering your own mum and dad.’

He looked back down at Teddy, his serious expression turning into another smile, although a slightly sad one, as Teddy tilted his head back to look into Harry’s face. Teddy’s hair and eyes had turned the colours of the Christmas lights. Ginny leaned her shoulder against the window frame.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed softly. ‘It would be. But at least we can make sure Teddy grows up knowing everything he can about them. He’s not—he’s not by himself, Harry.’ _Not like you were_ , she finished mentally, and she thought he understood what she was saying.

‘No.’ Harry turned the smile on her. ‘He’s not. And he never will be.’

Inside, Ron pulled his head out of the fire and stood up. Teddy’s legs kicked out with excitement as he waved, but both Ginny and Harry drew back from the window. Ron, seeing them like this, close together and deep in talk, would jump to conclusions, and that was the last thing they needed. He’d already been asking Ginny less-than-subtle questions ever since she got home.

‘It’s cold,’ she said, with a small shiver. ‘We should go inside. They must be nearly finished in the kitchen now, and I hope you’re prepared for the traditional family games night. Percy playing Charades slightly drunk is usually a highlight.’

Harry laughed. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

Only Fleur, crossing the hall from the kitchen to the dining room with a set of clean wine glasses, saw them come in, and she shot them a searching look, but said nothing.

And, after all, there was nothing to say, Ginny thought, as Harry took Teddy towards the living room, and she slid into the kitchen, where the remaining dishes were being dried. Nothing had happened. But somehow, she felt happier than she had done for a while, as if another torn part of her heart had just had a patch put in.


	3. a hell of a year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick reminder/clarification: my canon is book canon (including the epilogue), with the additions of what jkr initially created in terms of future jobs and pairings. all those pairings will happen in the end, but not necessarily yet. and beyond that, i invent my own canon. i take or leave stuff that only happened in the films or emerged on pottermore (and leave entirely everything that happened in the cursed child, which i haven't either read or seen, so i have no idea whether this story contradicts it or not, but my other fics definitely do). 
> 
> thank you, everyone who is reading this! i do really appreciate comments, however short, so i would love it if you let me know what you think. <3

At the top of the stairs in the Leaky Cauldron, a door opened into a wide, wooden-floored room that Harry had never been aware of before.

‘Hannah got it for us,’ Neville said, as he showed Harry, Ron and Hermione inside. ‘They’re going to be using it as a sort of function room and extra bar. It’s not really ready yet, but she convinced Tom to let us try it out.’

‘Is Hannah here?’ Hermione looked around.

A lot of people were here, all familiar, friendly faces. Harry had seen most of them since the battle, some of them regularly, but gathered here together like this, they took him back in a breath-taking moment to a cold, huddled meeting in the Hog’s Head, and a bunch of kids casting defence spells in the Room of Requirement. It was only a couple of years ago, but it felt like a lifetime, like it had been a different person who'd done all that.

‘Yeah, she’s around,’ Neville said, then broke off, his face lighting up at the approach of a short, blonde-curled girl. He put his arm around her as she came up to them. ‘Hermione, you haven’t met Cat. My, er, my girlfriend.’

His face turned pink as he spoke, and Harry and Ron exchanged faint grins. They had met Cat Brewis a couple of times already, and Neville never seemed anything less than completely bowled over and amazed that he was allowed to call her his girlfriend.

‘Hi,’ Hermione said, smiling brightly. ‘It’s great to meet you, Cat—Ron’s mentioned you. And I think I remember seeing you around at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw, right?’

Ravenclaw and two years above them, Harry happened to know, although the age difference didn’t seem to bother either Neville or Cat. He supposed that if it was the other way around, nobody would think anything of it.

‘That’s right. It’s great to meet you properly too. I’ve heard a lot about you, one way or another.’ Cat laughed and looked at Harry and Ron. ‘Hi, guys. Thanks for letting me crash the party.’

‘Hey, you’re not crashing,’ Harry told her. ‘You were invited.’

‘And Neville’s not the only person who’s brought someone, anyway,’ Ron added. ‘Leanne’s here with Katie, and Ernie’s coming with his girlfriend too.’

‘You work for the _Daily Prophet_ , right?’ Hermione asked, as they moved further into the room.

‘Oh, well, sort of,’ Cat said, looking a little self-conscious. ‘I mean, I do, but all I do is sort the post into the right in-trays and make the tea and stuff. I’m somewhere below an admin assistant.’

‘Well, you’ve got to start somewhere,’ Neville put in, smiling at her. ‘You’ll make it. Cat’s a writer,’ he told the others. ‘She’s really good.’

Harry looked around himself as they made for the bar, chatting idly about jobs and plans. Across the other side of the room, he spotted Ginny with a group of the other girls, and she looked up and caught his eye. She gave him a smile and small wave, and he smiled back, feeling glad he’d made the decision to come.

They ordered drinks, and Harry got a firewhisky and took a sip, trying not to let his gaze drift too obviously in that direction.

‘You going to go and talk to her, then?’ Ron asked quietly beside him.

Harry glanced quickly at him.

‘I talked to her a few days ago, at Christmas,’ he pointed out.

Ron gave him a narrow-eyed look, and Harry felt, as he often did when it came to Ginny, that Ron was holding himself back from saying something more. He was grateful for Ron's restraint, but wasn’t sure how long it was going to last.

‘Harry!’

An arm was slung around his shoulders, and Harry grinned at Lee Jordan, not too unhappy at the interruption.

‘Hey, Lee, how’s it going?’ 

'So you dragged him out of his lair, then.' Lee addressed the others past Harry, then turned back to him, his eyes alight with excitement. 'It is going incredibly well. Guess who got a proper radio slot for their show—WWN approved and everything. Just got our green light right before Christmas, and we start in the new year.'

'No way!' Harry said, genuinely pleased to hear some proper good news. 'That's amazing!'

'So, Potterwatch is going mainstream?' Ron said. 'Congratulations!'

‘Well, we’ll be renaming it.’ Lee grinned at Harry. ‘Without the context, it just sounds a bit creepy. But yeah, it's all going to be above board. Doesn't mean we'll be toeing the line, though. I’m talking proper journalism, no bullshit, no boot-licking, no sucking up to the Ministry. Fresh voices and the truth, exactly like last year, just with more decent tunes and less danger of being murdered.’

Lee’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Harry laughed.

‘Sounds brilliant. Who’s ‘we’?’

'Well, funny you should ask. Oi, Bones!' Lee called across to where Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot were standing not far away. 'Come over here a second!'

Susan Bones looked around, smiled, and moved their way, Hannah following her. 

'Hey, guys,' Susan said, in her quiet voice. 

'May I introduce you to my co-host,' Lee said, before anyone else could speak. 'River and Rags, riding the airwaves together again!'

Harry glanced between them, confused. Lee and—Susan? How did they even know each other? And what was Lee on about?

'Er—what?' he said.

Lee laughed, and so did Neville behind Harry.

'You didn't listen to much Potterwatch, did you, Harry?' Neville asked.

‘Well, we didn’t exactly have a lot of time to listen to the radio last year,’ Hermione put in. 'River was your code name, wasn't it, Lee?'

'Yeah, we all had code names,' Lee agreed. 'Anyone who was a correspondent. Royal, Rapier, Romulus, and the rest. And our regular reporter from inside Hogwarts—Rag 'n' Bone, or Rags for short. One of our most popular segments, especially after they started monitoring all the owls and Floo points in and out of Hogwarts, so nobody really knew what was going on in there.'

'We started out just listening when we could,' Hannah said. 'They'd blocked the signal inside the castle, but we could get it from the Hog's Head.'

'We didn't have any way of contacting them, though, until Susan worked it out,' Neville added. 'Reversed the charms or something—don’t ask me how, it was all really technical—’

‘The magic’s not really very difficult,’ Susan broke in. ‘It’s just a bit fiddly to get right the first time.’

‘Don’t listen to her,’ Lee said. ‘It’s tricky stuff, and she’s better at it than I am. Pretty sure Susan could broadcast a radio show from a box at the bottom of the sea, if she had to. Funny thing is, we’d never spoken in person until the war was all over, but as soon as we got talking about this, we knew we had to go for it. Never really thought we’d get it approved that fast, but it seems like they’re after new blood at the moment. We’re calling it Storm Radio, because between us we make some ragged water.’

‘Wow. Well, that's great,’ Harry said. He'd never have imagined that quiet, unassuming Susan Bones would have turned out to be a genius with pirate radio, but the war had brought out some surprising aspects of people. 'Let me know when you're going to be broadcasting, and I'll make sure to tune in.'

'We all will,' Ron agreed. 'Should be brilliant.'

Lee produced a flyer and started to pass it around, and Hannah leaned towards Harry.

‘Have you heard from Lavender?’ she asked, as quietly as possible through the general conversation.

Harry glanced at the others beside him. He personally had not, although he’d heard the odd update. Of all their old schoolmates—the ones who’d survived—Lavender had come off worst.

‘I don't think any of us have heard directly,’ Hermione said. ‘But I saw Parvati the other week, and she said Lavender was doing better. She's here somewhere—Parvati, I mean—so you could ask her.’ 

‘Lavender’s not coming herself then?’

‘Well, she'd have got the invite,' Harry pointed out. 'So she might turn up.’

‘She hasn’t come out with us once since the battle, though, has she?’ Ron said. ‘I doubt she’ll come.’

Hannah looked troubled. ‘D’you think she’s still not up to it, or is she worried we’re going to judge her or something?’

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t sure whether Hannah knew the slightly complicated history between them and Lavender, but Ron was looking a little awkward. What had happened to Lavender went a bit beyond bad memories of failed school romances, though, didn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘I suppose she’ll come when she’s ready.’

He felt a bit guilty—Lavender had never been a very close friend, but she was still a friend. They’d shared classes and a common room for six years, she’d been a member of Dumbledore’s Army from the very start, and she’d fought alongside them at the battle. He had tried to visit her in hospital, early on, but she hadn’t been seeing any visitors then, so he’d gone away again. After that, he’d relied on updates from other people, assuming that he was respecting her privacy. But maybe he should have made more effort—maybe they all should.

‘Lavender,’ Cat broke in. ‘Is she your friend who—?’ She broke off, glancing at Neville, who was looking at the flyer with Lee.

‘Got bitten by a werewolf. Yeah,’ Harry said.

There was an awkward pause, and Harry found himself irrationally irritated by it. Maybe this was the problem—the reason Lavender didn’t want to come out and be around her old friends, even though, according to Parvati, she was doing so much better physically. It was an inescapable thing that had happened to her, and not naming it wouldn’t change that. It was that discomfort, even from good people, people who were sympathetic, that drove werewolves into the shadows.

‘I just hope she knows that it doesn’t make any difference to us,’ Hannah said. ‘That we’re all going to be there for her, you know?’

Harry pushed his momentary annoyance away. Hannah didn’t seem uncomfortable, only concerned. And after all, what did he know about it? Maybe he was wrong, and Lavender wouldn’t want it talked about at all. He didn’t know, because he hadn’t asked her, and maybe he should put that right.

*

He wasn’t sure whose idea it had been to gather the whole of Dumbledore’s Army together for a reunion. Certainly not his, although he felt a little guilty for not enjoying it as much as he probably should. These people were his friends, every single one of them. They’d all been through the horrors of the war, they’d all lost people, they’d all lost some part of _themselves_ in it. That was why he’d come, because that thread of connection between them all was important. 

But everyone wanted to talk to him. Lee and Susan’s updates had at least been pleasant, but Ernie had cornered him for twenty minutes to talk about the legal case for removing wands from all convicted Death Eaters, there had been an awkward encounter with Cho, and a somewhat heated debate between several people over whether or not Zacharias Smith ought to have had an invitation, as one of the original members. Harry had also felt obligated, after talking to Hannah, to find Parvati and enquire about Lavender. Not that he didn’t genuinely want to know, but the news wasn’t exactly cheering. Lavender was dealing with her transformations now, with the help of Wolfsbane, but she was struggling to come to terms with the whole thing, and also facing the fact that most people still wouldn’t employ a werewolf.

‘She was really upset when we all got job offers from the Auror Department,’ Parvati told him softly. ‘I mean, she wasn’t in any state to take one, not then, but she still fought with all of us, you know? She was one of the best, last year. And now, just because she’s on the werewolf register, she’s not eligible and never will be.’

‘That’s fucked up,’ Harry sad flatly.

‘Yeah. But that’s how it is.’

He found himself waiting for midnight with some impatience, although there wasn’t really anything very appealing about Apparating back to a dark, empty Number 12 alone. He was several drinks in, but was resisting the pressure—mostly from Dean and Seamus, who were both very drunk—to have any more, because getting completely pissed never seemed to have a very good effect on his mental state.

At a few minutes to twelve, someone banged on the bar for quiet, and Harry turned away from Dean and Seamus to see Neville climbing a little precariously onto a chair, a pint glass clutched in his hand, and his face pink and shiny. Harry still hadn’t quite got used to seeing Neville taking charge, although he was a more than capable teammate in the Auror Department, but around the room everyone gradually fell silent and turned towards him, and Harry was reminded that for at least the second half of last year, Neville had basically been the leader of Dumbledore’s Army in Hogwarts. Harry lent his elbows back against the bar to listen.

‘Um.’ Neville looked around, looking typically unsure of himself, and also more than a little tipsy. ‘So, er, I’m not very good at this. But I just wanted to say thanks for coming. And, um—’ He glanced down at Cat, who smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Yeah, so, it’s almost midnight. The end of 1998. Been a hell of a year, hasn’t it?’ The corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a rueful smile for a moment before he went on. ‘So I s’pose… let’s, y’know, make 1999 the year we rebuild things better than they were before, because Merlin knows, the world wasn’t exactly perfect before You-Know-Who—sorry, _Voldemort—_ came along.’ There was a scattered cheer at the fact that it was safe to say that name out loud now, and Neville raised the hand with the pint in it. ‘Here’s to Dumbledore’s Army, to everyone who’s here and everyone who’s not, for whatever reason. Especially Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey.’

There was a mumble around the quiet room, and Harry lifted his own drink—a butterbeer, despite Seamus’s disgust.

_‘Fred and Colin.’_

The two members of Dumbledore’s Army who would never drink with them again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione take Ron’s hand and grip it tightly as they joined the toast, and, at the other side of the room, Angelina and Lee both had their arms around George’s shoulders. Harry’s eyes swept the room. Ginny was sitting with Luna and a few others, half-leaning on Luna as she drained her glass. She was one of the few people he hadn’t talked to tonight, and he wasn’t sure which of them was avoiding the other, but he didn’t want to be caught staring, so he looked away again. 

The clock someone had enchanted on the wall flashed red as the ten second count down began, and Neville lifted his drink once again.

‘To 1999!’ he called.

A fervent but muted toast ran around the room. Then, outside, the bells were chiming. Fireworks went off somewhere not too far away, and whoops and shrieks out in the street welcomed the arrival of the new year, but in the upstairs bar of the Leaky Cauldron, it slipped in quietly, a moment of peaceful solidarity.

As the noise slowly rose again in the following moments, Harry turned around and leaned forwards on the bar, swilling the remaining liquid slowly in his glass. Through the windows on the far side of the room, the tops of the fireworks, visible over the buildings opposite, exploded into fractured stars. Seamus had ordered shots and was distributing them around the room with somewhat haphazard levitation spells. A few feet away, Ron and Hermione were engrossed only in each other.

What the next year would bring, Harry found it hard to imagine. For a good part of the last one, Harry hadn’t been at all sure he was ever going to see 1999. The odds had certainly been against him.

But he’d made it. Everyone here tonight had made it, and maybe that was all that could be said right now.

‘Hey,’ a familiar—although currently very slurred—voice said.

He looked around and found Ginny at his elbow, swaying slightly, a shot glass in each hand.

‘Got you one,’ she told him, pushing it at him.

Harry took it from her automatically.

‘How much have you had already?’ he asked her, torn between amusement and concern.

Her grin was a flash of white teeth.

‘Dunno. Haven’ been counting. Y’drinking that or not?’

Harry glanced down at the bright green, bubbling liquid, then at her. Her black dress was stark against the paleness of her skin, and there was a fierce light in her eyes. She was laughing, but she wasn’t really happy. How could she be, when a few minutes before, they’d been toasting her dead brother? They could smile and fake it, but it didn’t cover up the gaping holes.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It kind of looks like something I made in Potions once. And I also think you might have had enough.’

‘What’re you, my mum?’ She nudged his arm and almost tilted herself off balance. ‘C’mon, it’s New Year!’

‘Ginny—’

She stopped him with a sudden, startling finger pressed against his lips.

‘Ssh. Stop,’ she told him, swaying closer to him. ‘Stop doing that.’

It was the closest they had been for a very long time. Her hand against his mouth and the faint scent of her perfume, the same perfume she always wore, taking him right back to sixth year and bright spring days sprawled in the heather by the lake at Hogwarts. And it was wrong—all wrong.

‘I’m not doing anything.’ He took her wrist and pushed her hand gently away from him.

‘You are. Y’doing it—you always do.’

‘Doing _what_?’

‘Trying to—to _protect_ me. War’s over, Harry, didn’t you notice? S’time to have fun.’

Anger tightened in his chest, and he tried to push it down. He knew she wasn’t really that light-hearted about it all. She was drunk, that was all.

‘Not like this,’ he said firmly. ‘I seriously don’t think you should drink that shot, Ginny.’

The remains of her smile slipped off her face.

‘Well, fuck _that_ ,’ she said distinctly, and tipped the contents of the glass into her mouth in one go, then met his eyes squarely. ‘If I want to drink shots, I’ll shot—I’ll drink them. Y’don’t get to tell me. Okay?’

Harry scowled, feeling his annoyance—with her, partly, for getting herself like this, but also with the night in general—get the better of him. He hadn’t really wanted to come, and he’d been right. What good did it do to drown grief in alcohol? Last week, at the Burrow, it had almost felt like the old days between them, like they were the same people they always had been, and the connection was still there. This, though, wasn’t a Ginny he recognised. He wanted to talk to her, but not like this.

‘Okay, fine, I get it. You do what you want,’ he said. ‘Sorry for trying to look out for you. But I don’t want to get wasted, so.’ He put the shot she’d given him down on the bar. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

She snatched it back, quick as a cat, despite how drunk she was.

‘Whatever,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll get wasted by myself then.’

She sent the second shot after the first without losing eye contact with him, then spun around and was gone, making a meandering path back across the room towards Luna and the Patil twins. Harry stared after her, feeling the drinks he’d had roiling in his stomach. Maybe he was drunker than he’d realised.

‘Hey,’ Ron said from nearby, his arm still around Hermione but his eyes on Harry, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Everything okay?’

He glanced after Ginny, but Harry resolutely looked away from her. He hoped that Ron and Hermione hadn’t heard the conversation—and, from their looks of confusion, he thought they’d probably been too taken up with each other for those moments to realise anything other than that Ginny had been and gone, and that something was a little off.

‘Yeah, I just—I think I might head off, to be honest.’

‘Harry?’ Hermione said. ‘Are you alright? Did you—’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied, needing Hermione not to start right now. ‘I was only planning to stay for midnight. I’m just kind of tired.’ He summoned a smile from somewhere. ‘Good party, though. It’s been great to see everyone.’

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then back at him. Ron was still frowning, but Hermione gave him a small smile in return.

‘Well, if that’s what you want. I don’t think we’re going to be too much longer, either. I’m glad you came, though, Harry.’

Harry nodded, not quite able to find another lie. Ron and Hermione, he assumed, would be leaving together.

‘We’ll see you soon, then, mate,’ Ron said. ‘Happy New Year.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Happy New Year. And if you talk to Neville, tell him it was a good speech.’

He paid his tab at the bar, and ignored the few people who called out to him as he edged his way to the door to find his coat. It hadn't been a complete lie—it had been good to see people. But he couldn't do it yet. He couldn't celebrate when it still felt like they'd lost almost as much as they'd gained. When there were still bloody Death Eaters out there, uncaught and uncontained. 

Harry Apparated onto his doorstep, because, with the help of some of the new skills he'd learnt with the Auror Department, he'd set up strong enough Anti-Apparition wards that even he couldn't pass through them without using some complicated spells to lift them, which he didn't feel up to right at the moment. His Muggle neighbours at Number 11 were having a very loud party, but he had spells for that too, and the noise turned to silence as he crossed the threshold of Number 12. 

The entrance hall had changed a bit since the first time he'd stepped into it. The House Elf heads up the walls had gone—he'd consulted Kreacher and the others at Hogwarts, to find out the respectful thing to do with them, and the House Elf community had quietly taken them, though Harry wasn't quite sure what they'd done with them in the end—but he still hadn't found a way of removing the portrait of Sirius's mother, only of keeping the curtains spelled shut across her, which at least kept her quiet. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it if he ever did get it off the wall, any more than he'd known what to do with the great tapestry of the Black family tree, which was currently rolled up in one of the spare bedrooms. Andromeda might be the person to ask, but it seemed a bit tactless, since she'd been burned off the thing. The troll's leg umbrella stand had gone too, although Harry hadn't got around to replacing it with anything, but the hall still had the same peeling wallpaper and threadbare, once-grand rug on the floor. Maybe Molly Weasley and Odette Thibodeau were both right, and he should redecorate a bit. Or maybe he should do what Ron and Hermione had been pushing him to do, and move somewhere more conventional. 

He tried not to think about Ginny as he dug in the fridge and pulled out a pumpkin pasty, but it was hard when the pasties had been part of the food parcel Mrs Weasley had loaded him down with when he'd left the Burrow after Christmas. He pointed his wand at the fireplace and watched the flames crackle up cheerfully. On the mantelpiece was the envelope containing the photographs Odette had left him with. He hadn't seen her since that day in November, but he'd had a Christmas card from her. 

Harry picked up the envelope and slumped into the armchair by the fire, balancing his pasty on the arm of it as he pulled the photos out, trying not to get pastry grease on them. There they were, smiling up at him. Lily Evans, James Potter and their friends. He liked seeing them, though he felt a dull ache every time he looked at them. All of them gone, except Odette. What had it been like for her, after the end of the first war? For that generation, the names of the dead would have outnumbered the people making the memorial toasts.

The wars, all of them, had torn such huge chunks out of everyone's lives. And how could they do what Neville had said, and build a world that was better than the one before, when they couldn't even fix themselves?


	4. the feeling of flight

The sun was barely up when Ginny made her way out onto the Quidditch pitch, the frost lying on the grass in the January dawn. She was alone, and nobody else would be there so early—it was her own private time.

Two running laps around the pitch to warm up, then she picked up her broom and took off. Her new Starsweeper IX moved like something made of quicksilver, not wood. It was the first brand new broom she’d ever had, bought with the money from her Order of Merlin. Already it had carried her to one victory against Slytherin—a narrow win, but satisfying, after the carnage of the previous year. Now she had to work out how to beat Hufflepuff, whose main strength was their unflappable brick wall of a Keeper.

And it was possible that there might be professional scouts at that match. No, she wasn’t going to think about that. She had to focus on game play. Ginny circled the pitch, concentrating on the way that even the slightest shift of her weight and grip changed the direction of her broom. The Starsweeper was so quick to react that it was easy to overdo it, especially when you’d learnt to fly on an ancient, sluggish Cleansweep.

She flew lower to summon the Quaffle that she’d left on the ground, and stiffened. Someone was coming out of the changing rooms. For a moment, Ginny felt a stab of annoyance. She’d expected to have the pitch to herself. But after all, she didn’t own it. And she recognised the figure as he came closer. 

Callum Abercrombie was her year and had also been her own pick for the team, September before last, when they’d still been trying to pretend it was a normal year at school. The third Chaser, to replace Katie Bell. Ginny hadn't known him very well before that, but, although he hadn’t been a Dumbledore’s Army member, playing Quidditch under the Carrows had been its own kind of war, one in which she and Callum had flown shoulder-to-shoulder. 

‘Morning!’ she called, hovering her broom above him. ‘You’re up early.’

He tilted his head back to look at her, fair hair falling back from his face.

‘Hello,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Thought I’d come out and get a bit of practice at neatening up my turns. My captain said I needed to.’

Ginny grinned a little sheepishly, because she had indeed told him that, possibly a little more sharply than necessary. She’d been in a bad mood at the last practice, because Ron had mentioned casually in a letter that Harry had been working up in Scotland, near Hogwarts, and she hadn’t heard a word about it from Harry himself. She was over that now. Why should he tell her? The last time they’d spoken, they’d argued. And it wasn’t like he’d have had time to drop in if he’d been on an Auror mission.

‘Well, if you want we can practice together,’ she told Callum. She hadn’t come out to practice anything in particular, and it might actually be more fun to fly with someone.

He swung his leg over his broom and pushed off the ground to join her.

‘Sounds good! D’you want to play with a Quaffle or what?’

Ginny looked at him, considering, then past him, up to the castle, her eyes narrowing as an idea occurred to her.

‘No. You need to practice your turns, and I’m still getting the hang of the way this broom reacts. So let’s do it properly. Race you to the castle, round the Astronomy Tower, figure of eight around it and Ravenclaw Tower, then back.’

Callum followed her gaze and raised his eyebrows.

‘Are you suggesting breaking rules, Captain? We’re not meant to fly around the castle.’

He had a faint, teasing grin as he glanced her way, and Ginny lifted an eyebrow back at him.

‘Why, are you worried?’ She laughed. ‘Who’s going to see us anyway?’

‘Literally any teacher could look out of a window,’ he pointed out, then grinned wider. ‘But hey, it’s okay, I’ll just say I was following orders. Where’s the finishing line?’

‘The near goalposts?’ Ginny suggested.

‘You’re on.’ He lined his broom up with hers. ‘Count of three?’

She counted down, and as she said the word, they were off.

This was flying. In a Quidditch match, you rarely got to fly at high speed for more than a few seconds before someone tackled you, or you had to swerve a Bludger, but this was real flight. Cold wind in her face and through her hair. All her focus on keeping her broom moving, straight as an arrow towards the towers of the castle.

Callum was close beside her, near enough to neck-and-neck that she wasn’t sure who was ahead. Her Starsweeper was a faster broom than his Comet, but she knew he’d been flying it for more than a year. He knew exactly how to get the most from it.

They swept around the Astronomy Tower, and there was nothing wrong with _that_ turn he’d just made. He’d dropped below her a little, so neither of them was forced onto the outer edge, and if anything he was ahead of her. Ginny flattened herself to her broom and accelerated hard. The figure of eight meant a complete loop all the way around Ravenclaw Tower, a tighter and more difficult turn.

Aiming the nose of her broom, she headed almost straight for the tower. Grey stone loomed fast. Ginny’s heart thundered, although she knew she wouldn’t hit it. She was close though, close enough that she could reach out and touch the stonework if she stopped. Barely losing speed, she pulled the Starsweeper in a tight circle. He’d go wider. He’d have to go wider. He’d never trust himself to fly that close.

Sure enough, he was outside of her, and, as she pulled away back towards the Astronomy Tower for that final loop around it, and then back towards the Quidditch pitch, she was easily ahead.

The wind was behind them as they sped back to the pitch, sending them flying along even faster. Ginny, lifting herself a little off her broom, couldn’t resist a small whoop. Not at winning, just at the feeling of flight. It was speed. It was joy. It was pure freedom.

With a straight run, the Comet couldn’t touch the Starsweeper, and she darted between the hoops a broom’s length ahead of him.

They pulled up, breathless and laughing.

‘Well done,’ Callum said. ‘Good flying.’

‘Good broom,’ she corrected him.

‘And good flying.’

Ginny grinned. ‘Okay, well, maybe a little. You were pretty good too, though.’

Callum pulled a face, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

‘Not good enough. I was all over the place going round Ravenclaw Tower.’

‘You know, I think your problem’s weight distribution,’ she started, then broke off. He was the same age as her, and a very good flyer. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be lectured. ‘Sorry, you don’t mind me saying, do you?’

‘No, course not.’ He looked surprised. ‘I mean, if you’ve got any tips…’

‘Yeah, actually, I might. Just because I’ve studied quite a lot of the technical stuff. I think you’re keeping your centre of gravity too much over your broom as you go into the turn. You’ve got to let your weight shift to your outside edge. Lean the broom into the turn, not your body.’

‘Like this?’ Callum took a short flight forwards and then turned, leaning as she’d said. The broom made a tight U-turn, but he wobbled, losing balance and momentum, and had to haul himself back upright. He glanced back at her, laughing as his face turned slightly red. ‘Okay, not quite like that.’

Ginny didn’t laugh, although she could have.

‘Push down with your inside hand for balance.’ She flew up to him. ‘Here, grip the inside of the broom, not the top. Like this.’

She reached for his hand and positioned it on the right part of the broom, pushing gently to show him how much pressure he needed to use. He looked slightly startled at the sudden touch, and Ginny pulled back hastily. Had that been weird? No, it was just about flight techniques. They were teammates, and she’d hugged him plenty of times, during and after matches. And yet somehow, for a brief moment, yes, it had been weird.

‘It’s easier to do it in flight,’ she said quickly. ‘Let’s fly to the far hoops, loop around them, and back.’

Oddly awkward moments aside, it was nice to practice with someone like that, away from the scheduled sessions. In team practice, Ginny had to be in charge, thinking all the time of game plan and strategy, and stopping Ritchie Coote and Natalie McDonald from just chatting to each other instead of concentrating. This, with Callum, was just fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really just let go and enjoyed herself. Certainly not at that New Year party, although she'd pretended hard.

They called a halt as breakfast time approached, the winter sun rising above snow-tipped mountains and glinting off all the castle windows. Ginny felt more relaxed than she had done for ages as they made their way together up to the castle and to the doors of the Great Hall.

People were starting to congregate for breakfast, and smells of coffee and bacon and toast were drifting out. Ginny saw Hermione already sitting at the Gryffindor table, frowning over a steaming mug and a piece of parchment. She looked at Callum and smiled.

‘I’ll see you later then.’

‘Yeah. See you later.’

Ginny made for Hermione and slid into the seat opposite her, her hands and face tingling in the warmth of the hall, after the icy air outside.

Hermione looked up.

‘Morning,’ she said, with a smile that turned thoughtful as her eyes drifted past Ginny to Callum, going to join some of his own friends.

‘Morning.’ Ginny helped herself from the jug of hot coffee and a plate of crispy bacon. ‘What are you working on? Homework at breakfast on a Saturday?’

She wouldn’t put it past Hermione, although it was keen, even for her. But Hermione had done nothing but work this year. Six NEWT subjects, Head Girl duties, and all the extra little things—or not so little sometimes—she seemed to take on. Ginny didn’t know how she did it.

‘It’s not homework.’ Hermione turned the parchment around, so that Ginny could see what appeared to be lists of scribbled names. ‘McGonagall’s asked for volunteers to help with the reconstruction again this weekend.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Ginny said through a mouthful of coffee. ‘What is it this time?’

‘Perimeter boundaries. Patching up holes in the wards. It’s repair work, not starting from scratch, so she’s letting Sixth Years help, as well as Seventh. I said I’d organise the volunteers, and I’ve already got a good list—I’m trying to pair the Sixth Years with someone more experienced, though. Are you up for a shift?’

Ginny sighed. It wasn’t quite how she’d imagined spending her weekend, but she supposed it was the least she could do.

‘Yeah, okay, you can put me down.’

Hermione pulled the parchment back to her and scribbled Ginny’s name, then looked up again.

‘Where did you go with Callum Abercrombie so early?’ she asked.

Ginny gave a quick look at Hermione’s face. It gave nothing away, but Ginny knew that carefully neutral tone in Hermione’s voice.

‘We’ve just been flying. I went to get some practice in and ran into him doing the same.’

Somehow, she felt like she was making excuses, even though that was the absolute truth.

Hermione obviously felt the same, because her eyebrows lifted slightly.

‘You guys have been getting pretty close, haven’t you?’

Damn Hermione and her quiet perception. Until that morning, Ginny would have laughed at any idea that she and Callum Abercrombie had been getting any closer than teammates. Yes, they talked quite a bit, but only about Quidditch. But then there had been that one strange moment today, and the startled expression on his face… How did Hermione _know_ these things?

‘It’s not like that. We’re friends, and we play Quidditch together, that’s all.’

Hermione’s mouth pulled up at the corner.

‘Okay. I mean, I believe you, but you know it would be okay if it _was_ like that, right?’

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Hermione.

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘Exactly what I said. There would be nothing wrong with it if, you know, you ended up wanting to be more than friends. With him or with anyone.’

Ginny sighed. What was the point of pretending with Hermione?

‘It’s not like that,’ she repeated. ‘Genuinely, it’s not. But it’s not as simple as that anyway, is it?’

They both knew why. But Ginny couldn’t bring herself to say his name.

‘No,’ Hermione agreed quietly. ‘I know. Have you heard from him recently?’

‘No. Not since we got back after Christmas.’

That stupid argument at New Year. It still rankled, the way he’d tried to tell her off, like a wayward child. Like someone he had to protect, and therefore had the right to a say in their choices. And then he’d just left afterwards, as if being there at all had just been a chore. She didn’t know who he was anymore, and he didn’t seem to know who she was either.

‘Well, I know he’s been on missions,’ Hermione said. ‘And he’s struggling to adjust. I think—’

‘Look, I know,’ Ginny burst out, in a surge of irritation. ‘I need to give him time. He’s been through a lot. He needs some space. But maybe—’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe there isn’t enough time. Maybe, however much time I give him, it still doesn’t work. I know everyone thinks that’s all it takes, but what if it’s not?’

‘Then it is what it is,’ Hermione said gently, after the briefest shadow of a pause.

Ginny stared at her. ‘Then you don’t think we should—’ She swallowed. ‘Get back together?’

‘Well, it doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?’ Hermione said. ‘Only what you and Harry think.’

‘Tell that to Ron,’ Ginny muttered, her mouth twisting into a smile, although she didn’t really feel like smiling.

Hermione sighed. ‘Ron just wants you both to be happy. So do I, obviously, but it’s different for me. For what it’s worth, what I _think_ is that you and Harry both need to work out what makes you happiest. And being together made you happier than I’ve ever seen either of you before, but that was two years ago. None of us is the same as we were then. So if you need to go in a different direction now—or even just need some proper time to work out which direction to go in—then, like I said, that’s fine.’

Ginny let out her breath in a long rush, feeling bad for her outburst at Hermione. She still wasn’t sure she knew what she ought to do—and definitely not whether it involved Callum Abercrombie—but at least one person didn’t think she should just step straight into some inevitable happy ending.

‘Thanks, Hermione,’ she said genuinely. ‘That—well, that actually helps.’ Getting it off her chest had brought her appetite back with a vengeance too, and she took some eggs to go with her bacon, and started to pile her fork up. ‘I wish I knew what I was doing with my life, the way you do,’ she added with a sigh, just before putting the food into her mouth.

Hermione laughed. ‘Well, I wish I knew what I was doing as much as people think I do, to be honest.’

Ginny stared at her as she chewed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Hermione say anything like that before. Hermione _always_ knew what she was doing.

‘What—you and Ron?’ she said doubtfully, as soon as her mouth was free enough.

‘Ron and I have still got a lot to work on, but I think we’ll get there. No, I meant more in general. Next year. I’m doing all these NEWTS, but I have no idea what I’m going to do with them.’

‘Hermione, you could do anything you wanted,’ Ginny protested. ‘You’re the cleverest and best at magic in our year—and our year is two years put together. _And_ you fought Voldemort. There’s literally no job you couldn’t get.’

‘Not quite true.’ Hermione laughed. ‘I’m not going to get scouted for a Quidditch team, unlike some people.’

‘I don’t know if I am yet either,’ Ginny pointed out, taking a gulp of her coffee and feeling the twinge of combined excitement and anxiety she always got at the thought of those possible scouts. ‘Anyway, there are loads of things you could do. What d’you _want_ to do? Like, what would be the dream? You must have had one at some point.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘When I was little, I thought I wanted to be a teacher, but I definitely don’t have the patience. Now—I don’t know. Last year I told Rufus Scrimgeour that I wanted to do something to make a difference, and I meant it, but that’s all I really know. We’ve got this whole new start, with Voldemort gone. What’s the point, unless we make the world a better place than it was before him, like Neville said at New Year?’

‘Hermione,’ Ginny said firmly, with a sudden rush of affection for her friend, along with an absolute conviction of what she was about to say, ‘I don’t know what you’re going to end up doing. Maybe you should ask McGonagall for some advice—she’d help you. But I know that, _whatever_ you decide to do, you’ll make a difference. You always do.’

Hermione blinked at her, looking almost surprised. ‘Well—thanks,’ she said. ‘I hope so.’ She hesitated a moment, as if she wanted to say something else but wasn’t quite sure whether she should. Then she plunged on. ‘You know, I wish you’d sign up for the counselling sessions with me. I’ve found them really helpful.’

Ginny had just taken another mouthful of food and sighed through it. It wasn’t the first time Hermione had brought it up, although it was the first time she’d done it directly enough that Ginny couldn’t just ignore her. She chewed her bacon and eggs, not in a huge hurry to swallow before she’d thought of an answer.

‘I mean, you thought it was a good idea when I suggested it to McGonagall at the start of the year, right?’ Hermione persisted. ‘And I really think it’s helping a lot of people. You could just—’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Ginny got rid of her mouthful and broke in before Hermione could get into full swing. ‘I did think it was a good idea. I still do. I think it’s great. I just—’ _Not for me. I have to do it myself. I don’t need to be rescued. Not anymore._ ‘I just don’t know if it’s the right thing for me.’

Hermione looked disappointed, but she nodded.

‘Okay. Okay. I get that. I mean, I think sometimes, just talking about stuff can be—but okay. It’s your choice, obviously.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I actually wish the boys could do it too, to be honest. The Wizarding World’s so behind in terms of mental health. The Ministry isn’t offering them _anything_ , and if it isn’t spell damage, St Mungo’s doesn’t want to know. I really think, after everything that’s happened, that they need to…’

Ginny let Hermione’s earnest lecture wash over her as she dug into her breakfast again. She supposed that Hermione was right as usual, but sometimes you just had to let her talk. Her eyes drifted down the table and landed on Callum Abercrombie. He seemed to sense it, because he looked up from whatever conversation he was having and met her glance. Before she could look away, he smiled, and Ginny found herself smiling back.

Maybe happy endings could look different from how you’d expected them to.


End file.
